Webkeeper's note: Jesse
Bookhardt grew up
in the mid-20th century in a family of sharecroppers and tenant farmers
in
Jeff Davis County, Georgia, and assisted with the family's annual
tobacco crop throughout his childhood and youth. Jesse earned degrees
in
American History
and education from Georgia Southern College and West Georgia College,
and was a teacher and principal with the Cobb County, Georgia, School
District until his retirement in the mid-1990s. He and his wife, also a
former educator, reside in Acworth, Georgia, and spend much of their
time on their farm in northeast Alabama, where they garden and tend a
muscadine vinyard. Jesse's account of the
stages of planting, raising, curing, and marketing tobacco,
written from the
perspective of someone who had a hands-on role in every part of the
work, is the
most complete and detailed that I have ever seen. While some specifics
of the process and some of the terminology used differ slightly from
the flue-cure tobacco traditions of North Carolina, thousands of Tar
Heels, and others in flue-cure tobacco regions of the country, will
find his story familiar. Jesse has generously permitted us to post his
reminiscence on this website. - Michael Southern

Introduction:

During World War II, I was born on my grandparents’
farm
between Snipesville
and Denton, Georgia. In the early days we were sharecroppers, and
later, renters. My
childhood was filled with stories told by my dad about how he came to
Georgia in the late 1930’s, where, while living with the Smith family,
he learned to grow and cook tobacco.
Daddy spoke of sleepless nights when he stayed up all night stoking
wood-fired
tobacco barns. Some of my most vivid memories are images of early days
farming
tobacco on the Wiregrass Plain of Jeff Davis County. With bare feet, I
remember
following my daddy down deep freshly plowed furrows and taking-in all
that the
fresh earth had to offer. Plowed soil has a distinctive smell that has
stayed with me all these many years. The
cool earth on one’s feet leaves a lasting impression. As we grew-up,
all nine of
us kids played an important role in the tobacco patch, Mama too.
Tobacco was
our main source of income and consumed untold amounts of energy. The
whole
Snipesville/Denton Community depended upon tobacco for its main cash
crop. The surrounding counties were the same and most had at least one,
and some
had several warehouses where annual tobacco auctions took place.

Tobacco
Planting:

Edward Lee
(Eddie) Bookhardt,
Sr.

Preparing the seed beds

Back
then tobacco
season started early.Usually in
February through early March, tobacco plant beds were prepared and
sowed. They
were long and rather narrow rectangular structures. Depending upon the
amount
of plants needed to supply a given farm’s tobacco allotment, they
varied in size
and number. Perhaps most were about 12 to 14 feet wide and maybe 40 or
more
feet long. If possible, before
anything else was done, a piece of new ground was found and plowed. New
ground
helped limit fungi and diseases, and especially Blue Mold. Then plant
beds were
laid-out and a frame constructed. Daddy usually used slender pine trees
to
frame the beds. When the pines were cut and arranged on the ground to
form the
desired rectangular bed, he would then drive wooden stakes next to the
logs and
anchor them to the frame with nails. Next he hammered small nails along
the
logs about every eighteen inches. After
that, he broadcast the small dark seeds upon the bed by hand and gently
raked
them into the soil. Finally, he
placed a type of cheese cloth over the bed which we called “tobacco bed
cloth.”
When hooked to the nails, this covering was kept taunt and in place.
The cloth
covering protected against cold weather and wicked wind. To allow for
drying
and proper sun penetration, on warm sunny days the cloth was rolled to
one side
or to the bed’s ends. As the plants matured and the weather warmed, the
cloth
was eventually removed completely from the beds.

I remember the fresh pine smell of the woods where
Daddy
sowed the beds
and a few
seed brands that we planted. Hicks Broadleaf was a popular cultivar and
one by which
my Uncle Clifford always swore. Also we grew White Gold. In the later
years Daddy
found that for a small farmer with a few acres of allotment, buying
plants from
a bigger farmer who had extra was less expensive than growing the beds
ourselves. Growing was not only expensive in fertilizer, seeds, and
land
preparation, but fighting dreaded Blue Mold was a risky business.
Sometimes
farmers lost their entire bed to that scourge. To me the plants never
looked
blue, but brown and dead.

Preparing the field

Anyway,
after plants were grown or purchased, it was time to transplant them in
the
field. The first task was to select a place where we hadn’t grown
tobacco or
peanuts the prior year. Crop rotation was important to guard against a
host of
diseases and insects that attack tobacco plants without encouragement.
Once the
site was decided, then we set about preparing the dirt. I can recall my
daddy
and oldest sister sitting down at the kitchen table, prior to the
actual field
measuring, and calculating on paper the required length and width of
the
tobacco patch.In order to make sure
that we didn’t plant over our allotment and be forced to cut up some
plants,
Daddy used a homemade measuring device. We called it the “Measuring
Stick.” It resembled
a crude compass, and was made from tobacco sticks. Two stick sections
were
attached to each other at a determined angle so that the distance
between the legs
(radii) at their ends would be a known measurement. I can’t remember
the exact
distance, but this stick or device was taken to the field and one leg
was
placed on the ground, and the device was rotated from leg to leg along
a
projected field perimeter. The rotations were counted until the amount
of space
was measured to equal the allotment. It appeared to be a very awkward
method,
but it worked well when an experienced farmer used it. We never used a
chain or
tape measure.I only remember once when we
had to cut up plants that were found to be over allotment by the
Agriculture
Stabilization and Conservation Service (ASCS) agent who annually
measured to
insure that farmers stuck to their allotments.

In
the early
days, we used a red mule named Lou to plow the fields and make the
rows. To
burst the drill where we spread 3-9-9 fertilize, a scooter and small
sweep were
used. Daddy said that too much nitrogen made tobacco rank, not cook
well, and
brittle when cropped. We added a side dressing of fertilizer at
laying-by time.
After the fertilizer was distributed, a mound of soil was plowed over
it
forming long hilled rows.To flatten the
tops of the rows and make a place to plant the tobacco plants, a short
wide
board attached to the plow was used. The process was grueling labor,
yet Daddy
was a stickler for well constructed straight rows.

Setting-out

"Blackeye" with
Jesse, Sara Jo, and Daniela, 1940s.

When “setting-out” day
came in April it was a time of excitement and great anticipation.
Our entire year pretty much depended upon our success. The whole family
participated in the planting. We got up early before day break and ate
a hearty breakfast of ham, eggs, grits, and coffee. The day before
planting, we
assembled things we would need such as plants, tar barrels filled with
water from
the creek or water hole, hand planter, and plant trays. When pulling
plants
from the bed we counted them and placed them in wooden crates,
cardboard
boxes, foot tubs or other such containers that could be found around
the farm. The
plants were gently placed in these receptacles with their roots at the
bottom
of the container. If they were held very long before transplanting,
they were
sprinkled with water to keep them fresh. Out in the field the entourage
of workers trooped around the end of the first row until all were
ready.
Daddy usually operated the hand planter and my sisters and Mama took
turns
performing the duties of the plant dropper. I helped with water and
plant supply.

The
hand planter
was a metal machine or tool that looked somewhat like two yard-long
sections of
stove pipe. They were attached to each other on their sides, and had a
hinged spade
end. One section was larger around than the other. At its upper end the
planter
had two ports. One port was large and actually was a tank for storing
water. The
smaller was just bigger in diameter than a large exhaust pipe. It was a
flue through
which the tobacco plant was dropped or thrust. Furthermore, this hand
planter
could be used not only to plant tobacco, but peppers, and tomatoes as
well. The
planter had a trigger which was attached to a rod and plunger.When pulled, water was allowed to escape from
the tank, along with the tobacco plant. Properly positioned in the soft
dirt of
the row, the machine did a pretty fair job of introducing the plant
with water to
the earth. The planting process involved the operator pushing the
planter’s
spades into the soil, the plant dropper dropping a plant down the plant
flue,
and then the operator pulling the trigger which released the plant and
water
into the dirt. The operator then removed the planter from the hole and
used his
foot to firm the soil around the tobacco plant. The operator and plant
dropper
then moved on down the row until the row was planted, and then down
other rows
until the entire patch was planted. Water was replenished from
turpentine
barrels that were positioned along the edge of the field. Plants were
taken as
required from the plant containers stored under shade trees at the row
ends and
placed in a homemade cardboard tray that was strapped around the neck
of the
plant dropper. The plant dropper backed along the rows facing the
planter and
dropped plants in the planter when needed. It was definitely a team
effort and
took good coordination between the operator, dropper, and water boy. Plants were spaced approximately 28 to 32
inches or more apart in the drill.

Planting
was
hard work and few complained about not being able to sleep at night. If
the
weather were hot on the day of planting, the plants would wilt and one
could
hardly appreciate what had been done when looking back across the field
of
wilted green. Next morning when the cool night had had a chance to do
its magic
and the plants had revived, one could see why farmers have a special
connection
to Mother Nature. Upon approaching the field, a beautiful erect and
ordered
plain of green plants could be observed where only a few hours before
there had
been a mess of plants drooped upon the white sandy soil.

Growing
the
Crop:

Once
the plants
in the field started growing, many things began to happen to keep them
from
becoming the specimens we wanted. It was our job to intercept, impede,
or
destroy all that would or did attack. The tobacco had to be hoed,
plowed,
poisoned, sprayed, topped, and suckered as it grew.

Fighting pests

Almost immediately
after
the roots hit the dirt, problems arose. Insects love tobacco. The
succulent
stems and leaves provided food for a myriad of predators. Cut Worms cut the
small plants down by eating
away the stalk and roots. We often dug them out of the ground by hand,
or I
should say fingers. We would run our finger around the plant stem where
it entered
the earth, and lo and behold a worm would be found.We sometime trailed mole crickets by
following raised soil they left behind. Other organisms that infested
and
destroyed tobacco included nematodes, stink bugs, budworms, and
hornworms. Green
July Flies, identified by their oversized grasshopper-type legs and
mandibles,
also ate tobacco. We would pull their heads off and throw them into the
air to
see how far they could fly. Further, tobacco was attacked by a variety
of
diseases and fungi. If all these challenges were not enough, farmers
had to
deal with wind, hail, drought, and flooding. I remember damage done by
all. We
loved and hated the weather. It was our constant companion for good or
bad, and
we had no control. When thunder rolled we shrank, and when the sun
shined we
thanked the good Lord. A few times we cropped tobacco in mud with our
pants
rolled up to our knees. Other times, trying to save what we could, we
picked hail-damaged
tattered and broken leaves from the ground.

In addition to
insect pests, the family contended with sometimes uncooperative
weather.
Jesse's cousin Linda Faye Walker Hayes bogged to her ankles in a
tobacco field drowned by heavy rains, 1969 or 1970.

Fighting insects
involved applying large quantities of pesticides. Back in the 1950’s on
small
farms, insecticides were applied by hand. I remember well the process
for doing
this job.We were sometimes late for
school because we had to “poison” tobacco before class. We would be
rousted out
of bed at the crack of dawn, and after a quick breakfast, sent to the
field
with wash tubs of powdery insect poisons. Frequently we mixed several
different
poisons with our bare hands. We often made hand prints in the soft
flour-like
stuff. I remember some of the poison was light-green and was called Paris Green;
others were
white and pale pink. Anyway, no matter the color, it was deadly to the
insects
and probably to us. In those days we knew little about the hazards of
insecticides. To apply dust, we constructed dispensers from empty
coffee cans. Like
a pie crust, the can’s bottom was punctured many times with an ice
pick, and
then the can was nailed to a tobacco stick handle. We filled the cans
full of
powdery insecticide and each child or person would go down a row
shaking a
small amount of dust on each plant. It was called “dusting tobacco.”
Sometimes
we cut a square section of tobacco bed cloth and gathered the four
corners
forming a pouch in which we placed poison dust.We
used it as a shaker as well. Both worked well enough to
get
the job
done.

When
we had
finished we often were covered from head to toe with poison. Our
eyebrows would
be white, and our dungarees and shoes covered. We would then rush home,
clean-up and go to school. It was the way of farmers in the old days in
the tobacco
belt of South Georgia. Who knows what
ill
effects this might have had? During some years it would be necessary to
have
the tobacco patch sprayed by airplane. It was expensive and for a small
farmer
not always affordable.When aerial
spraying
was required, the spraying company was contacted and the spraying
scheduled. Prior
to the spraying date, to make sure that the right farm was sprayed, a
white bed
sheet was staked next to the tobacco patch.On
most allotments only a few passes of the plane was
necessary
to
complete the job. For us kids it was fun and exciting to see the plane
dip nearly
to the ground and then roar back into the blue sky, almost clipping the
pine
tops. Crop dusting certainly was dangerous. Almost yearly we heard of
accidents,
some of which involved the loss of the pilot.

Jesse, 1940s

Hoeing and "laying-by"

When
the plants
were young they were not all that grew. Grass and weeds loved the same
environment as the tobacco. I recall many a day spent in the tobacco
patch
hoeing. Often we would come home from school and find a note on the
kitchen
table saying for us to come “just a hopping to the tobacco patch.”
Daddy owned
several hoes. Some were modern and others ancient instruments of
hacking that
were heavy and dull, probably survivors of the antebellum days when
slaves did
the mind-numbing monotonous work. To make the job tolerable we kids
sang church
songs. My sisters sometimes passed time by talking about the different
strips
found in the “funny paper.” They discussed “Smiling Jack,” “Beetle
Bailey,” “Mary
Worth,” “Brenda Starr,” and “Snuffy Smith.” Often we counted airplanes
that
flew overhead. We did a lot of daydreaming. With a shallow clean
movement of
the hoe through the top few inches of soil, hoeing was done to remove
weeds
without removing much soil. Another hoeing technique involved making a
few weed
sweeps followed by several cultivation chops around the plant. The
latter
loosened the dirt around the roots and allowed the roots to spread more
quickly
into the surrounding soil. Learning this took some teaching from Daddy
at the
beginning. Hoeing was also done to pull dirt to the plants. As the days
and
years passed, these techniques became a rather natural way of hoeing
for us
kids. Blisters always appeared at the beginning, but as one worked, the
hands toughened,
the back strengthened, and the task became endurable. After the tobacco
plants
had grown to a sufficient size and were near “lapping the middles,”
Daddy “side-dressed”
the tobacco with some moderate fertilizer and gave it its last plowing
to control
weeds. This was called “laying-by.”Any
more plowing would have been destructive, because the plow and mule
would have
broken leaves, and the sweep would have cut up roots.

Topping

At
the point
that hoeing and plowing wereno
longer necessary, and the plants had been layed-by, soon “topping” the
tobacco
was required. When the plants were about chest high they began to
bloom.
Beautiful pink and white blossoms appeared over a few days and the
patch would
be covered with bees and other insects gathering pollen and apparently
some
nectar; even though, I have never heard of tobacco honey. The fields
were quite
attractive; yet, we never stood round marveling at the beauty for we
knew that
blossoms meant that topping needed to be performed. To accomplish this
job, we
would assemble in the field, and each person work down a row breaking
out the
tops of the tobacco stalks removing the pretty flowers. This process
made the
tobacco spread its leaves and gain body. If left untopped the plants
would grow
spindly skyward and would be of less quality.

Suckering

When the tops were
removed not
only did the plants start to grow into robust specimens, but they
started to
produce rank suckers where each leaf was attached to the stalk. We
dreaded “suckering”
for it required us to pull thousand of suckers from the stalks at a
time when
the tobacco was growing rapidly and producing “tons” of tobacco tar.
Though not
visible on the plant, the stuff seemed to exude from all parts of the
plant.The sticky stuff would build-up
on any surface that came in contact with the plant. After working in
the fields
for a short time, your hands, shirts, arm hairs, and eyebrows would all
be
covered with a thick film of the dark sticky stuff. To prevent this
accumulation,
farmers wore “get-ups” that were designed to cover the body. Even
though the temperature
might be in the 90’s, we wore long sleeved shirts, long trousers, and
hats that
covered as much as possible. It certainly was no time to wear shorts,
even
though a couple of my sisters tried it in their bathing suits. Most
often the
women and girls wore old dungarees, sneakers, one of Daddy’s tattered
long sleeved
shirts, and a Poke Bonnet (Pioneer type).

Suckering
involved removing tender sprouts at each junction of leaf and stalk.
This
backbreaking job was done while watching for Black Widow spiders and
snakes
that might be resting under a leaf. After the suckering was done,
removing the
tar from one’s hands was a real job. Back in those days there was only
one brand
of commercial soap that farmers in our area used, and that was Lava. It
was the
only soap that would even make a dent in the tar. We often mixed the
soap with
a handful of clean Georgia
sand. After much scrubbing, working in tandem, the two would finally
remove the
stuff. I remember that in the summer of 1962 when I was in Canada
cropping
tobacco for a Dutch-Canadian farmer to earn college money, we croppers
wore our
pants day after day without washing them. They become so coated with
tobacco
tar until we could literally stand them in the corner of our bunkhouse
and they
would almost remain upright on their own.

Removing
the
suckers strengthened the plant, encouraged the development of body, and
improved over all quality. Suckering tobacco was probably the most
hated of all
tobacco-growing jobs, yet it was necessary. So, sometime in the 1950’s
a great
sigh of rejoicing went out across the tobacco belt when an anti-sucker
agent
was introduced. When we first heard of the chemical MH-30, we hardly
believed
it would work. We wondered how it would be applied to the plant without
killing
the whole stalk. We questioned what the stuff would do to us. However,
before
too long the agent was being used by the more progressive risk takers.
For a
while some stuck with the old method of suckering, but in time the
chemical
treatment of suckers became accepted methodology.

Puttin-in
Tobacco:

Lonnie Hayes
proudly demonstrating the length of a single tobacco leaf in a field of
beautiful tall plants almost ready for "puttin-in." 1960s.

During
the time with
which I am familiar, in South Georgia
tobacco
began to ripen about mid June. Depending upon factors such as weather
and rain,
the cropping season usually ran into early August. When lower leaves
began to
turn a light greenish yellow, the tobacco “gathering” season began. At
this time
farmers started to implement their plans for harvesting the leaves and
“cooking.”
The process of gathering the leaves and putting them in the barn for
curing was
called “puttin-in tobacco.” Cropping the leaves was usually conducted
by a gang
of men and/or teenaged boys. They were called the “Croppers.” A younger
boy
usually was tasked with driving full sleds of tobacco to the barn and
then
returning to the field with empties. Some “sled drivers” were barely
able to
drive a tractor. I remember that on one occasion when I was about
eleven years
old, and had just started driving sleds for Mr. Herbert Kight, that I
mismanaged
and somehow got a Super-A Farmall tractor astride a turpentine barrel
that was sitting
next to the lane from the field to the tobacco barn. After a few
minutes
working with the situation, I somehow got the tractor off the barrel
without
anyone being aware. That saved my reputation, as a rookie driver, and
prevented
a whole lot of ragging by the field and barn crews. At a typical barn
most help
was female. They strung the tobacco leaves onto tobacco sticks in
preparation
for the tobacco being hung in the curing barns. The farmer was in
charge of puttin-in
day and ran the field and barn activities. He most often was located at
the
barn and looked after unloading of the sleds and hanging of the tobacco
in the
barn. On most small farms tobacco was strung on sticks and placed in
neat piles
near the ’backer barn door, so as to facilitate the transfer into the
barn. Generally,
after the croppers finished the cropping, they came to the barn and did
the “hanging.”

Swapping hands

Puttin-in
tobacco required lots of dirty manual labor in very hot conditions. To
supply
this labor, farmers often swapped hands. The farmers agreed to help
each other
gather tobacco on puttin-in days. Our puttin-in day was Monday. Uncle
Clifford’s was Tuesday, and Mr. Ray’s was Thursday, etc.On these special gathering days the harvest
usually started early with the croppers expected to be in the field
ready to
crop by seven o’clock. In the early mornings, the tobacco was nearly
always wet
with dew, sometime to the point that you got wet from head to foot, and
your
hands shriveled. We wore old clothes and caps or hats to ward off as
much tar
as possible. The crew of croppers numbered four or more. A mule or
horse was
used to drag a tobacco sled down the middle between two rows. If you
had four
croppers you put the sled down the second middle, so that you had two
croppers
on one side of the sled and two on the other. An uneven number made the
sled
placement more difficult, but was always manageable. It just meant that
some
croppers had to cross over several rows to put their tobacco in the
sled. I
always preferred any row except the one which required you to follow
the mule,
for the corresponding middle sooner or later would be filled with
droppings,
and one always had to put-up with the smell of mule.

Sleds and mules

Sleds
were made
of 2 x 4 frame lumber mounted on 2 x 6 runners. Their sides were
constructed of
burlap fertilizer or feed sacks tacked to the framing. They were long
and
narrow. Throughout the Canadian flue-cured belt, they were called
“Tobacco
Boats.” South Georgia sleds were
somewhat like
a crate or rectangular box on runners. A chain was attached to the
front of the
sled and was linked to the mule’s trace chains and single tree by a “C”
link. Also a “C” link connected the sled
to the
tractor for the trip to the barn. Keeping up with the location of
portable “C”
links was a constant endeavor. Since they were small, they were easily
lost in
the dirt or sled.

At
the beginning
of the day the mules were strong and sometimes restless. I remember
that Mr. Ed
Ray had two big mules. One year he allowed us to borrow one on our
puttin-in day.
The mule had a stopping problem. Each time we put him in the middle
with a sled
and we clucked to make him go forward, he wouldn’t stop until he
traveled the
whole length of the row, even though we were yelling “whoa” at the tops
of our
lungs. Mr. Ray’s son, Polly, would hop
into the sled, and while mumbling a few curse words, slap the lines
across the
rank mule’s back and run the critter around the patch a couple of
times. That
being done, there after each time we called “whoa,” the mule would obey
directly. Tobacco leaves were cropped and neatly laid in the sleds.
When a sled
was full it was parked at the end of the field, and a second sled
filled.Then the sled driver on a tractor
would hook to
the two full sleds of tobacco and take them to the barn. In a jiffy he
returned
to the field with empty sleds, and the process would go on until the
patch of
tobacco had been cropped. The sled driver was also responsible for
keeping
plenty of cool water available for the croppers. Many a driver got in
trouble
with the field hands by not taking that job seriously enough.

In
the meantime
back at the barn, tobacco leaves were being removed from the sleds and
placed
on stringing benches which were made of wide boards and built just
under the
edge of the barn shelter facing away from the barn. The benches were
equipped
with an upright tobacco stick holding frame or rack. It was high enough
so that
when a stick was inserted into it, the stick would be somewhat level at
a horizontal
height to comfortably fit under the arm of an average size woman. This
height
facilitated the stringing of the leaves on the tobacco stick. With a
tobacco
stick, which was about 54 inches long, placed in the rack, the
“stringer” would
take “hands” of tobacco from a “hander” and “string” it on the stick.
The
process involved a stringer and two handers. Handers stood one on each
side of
the stringer with tobacco on the bench in front of them. The stringer
first
tied cotton string to one end of a tobacco stick and placed it into the
stick
rack. The hander on the left of the stringer then handed the stringer a
“hand
of tobacco” which was made of two or three leaves. The stringer took
the hand
and strung it on the stick by clockwise looping the cord over and
around the
leaf stems and drawing the string tight as she pushed the leaves up
against the
stick. The stringer then reached under the stick and grabbed the leaves
being
handed by the hander on her right and counter-looped the string over
the hand
and pulled it to the stick while tightening the twine.This process, which was called “stringing
tobacco,” was done until the stick was full except for a few inches on
each
end. At this point the stick was “tied-off,” and was placed on the
ground in a
stack where it would stay until it and many more could later be hung on
the
barn tiers. It took a stringing team with experience to make this job
seem
easy. Some were very good and could make the leaves seem to fly off the
benches
and on to the sticks. Stringing made squeaking sounds as the string
slipped
pass the green stems cutting into them slightly. When the process was
going
smoothly this rhythmic sound was very noticeable. Farm girls started
early to
learn the stringing technique. When just little girls, my sisters would
gather
dog fennel and use that common Georgia
weed as a substitute for tobacco leaves. They practiced stringing the
weed to a
tobacco stick. Even though they were playing, a necessary skill was
being
learned.

From the bottom up

As
the weeks
passed, starting at the bottom of the plant and proceeding up the
entire plant
to the top, the tobacco plant ripened its leaves a few each week. At
first the
croppers removed the bottom leaves referred to as “sand lugs” because
they were
covered with sand. These leaves were usually of the poorest quality of
all the
leaves. If they judged them to be of such poor quality as not to be
worth the
effort of gathering, some farmers pulled and discarded them. Next, the
croppers
harvested the “middle tobacco” which when cured was the best of the
crop in
weight and sugar content. The leaves were bigger and of greater body
than sand
lugs or the top leaves. Finally, at the close of the gathering season,
the “tips”
were cropped. Whereas, they were inferior in overall quality to the
middle
leaves, they were far superior to the sand lugs. Since the last
cropping
removed all the leaves from the stalks, it was called “stripping.” At
that
stage of the harvest, the attitudes of the workers significantly
improved. The
crop was almost finished. Stripping was a romp in the field. One didn’t
have to
bend to crop, nor distinguish between ripe and green tobacco.

Hanging

Cropping
tobacco
was not the only hard and dirty job. Stringers were required to stand
in one place
and string hour after hour. Stringers suffered cord burns on their
fingers.
Some used white bandage tape around their stringing fingers and hands
to
prevent these burns. Also, after cropping and stringing, came the
dirty, hot
task of hanging the heavy sticks on the barn tiers. After the croppers
finished
their field work, and returned to the barn, they usually were the ones
who “hung
the barns.” A team effort was required here as well. Starting at the
stack of strung
sticks outside the barn door, a brigade of hands lined up and passed
the sticks
of tobacco to a couple of hangers who had climbed into the barn and
stood spread-eagle
on the parallel tiers. The object was to hang the green tobacco on
these racks so
that it could be properly “cooked-off.”
Most barns were made of rough sawn
unpainted framing lumber and wide board siding. Generally, barns were
divided
into four “rooms” which had open tier walls separating them. Barn
overall
dimensions were 16 x 16 feet. However, my PaPa Walker had one old log
barn that
had five rooms and measured 20 x 20 feet. Tar paper was often used to
help
insulate drafty barns. Some barns were made of cement blocks, and the
oldest ones
were made of skinned logs and pole tiers. These barns appeared as tall
log
cabins.Early barns had wood shingle
roofs.
By the late 1940’s most roofs had been converted to tin. Anyway, sticks
of
tobacco were passed into the barn and handed up to the hangers who
worked in a
room in very dim light which came through the door. Small vent doors at
the top
of each gable end of the barn provided light for a short time, but that
illumination was doused quickly by sticks of green tobacco being hung
on the
top tiers.The hangers stood on the
tiers which were about 48 inches apart. I preferred hanging in the log
barns
for, even though their overall space was cramped, their tiers were log
poles
and were much more comfortable to my feet than the sharp edges of rough
sawn 2 x
4 tiers; however, one had to be careful not to allow your feet to slip
off the
rounded surfaces. From the outside the sticks were passed up to the
first
hanger standing on lower tiers. He then passed it up to the top hanger
who
actually hung the sticks on the tiers. As the hanging progressed, the
outside
pile of sticks got smaller while the barn became fuller. A
couple of things that the hangers had to
deal with included short sticks that fell after being hung and sticks
that were
too long and would not easily fit the span between tiers. After some
tobacco
was hung, soon hangers would be working with tobacco which had been
cropped in
the early morning and was still usually dripping with dew. With
moisture on the
tobacco leaves, wet stuff fell on the heads of the hangers, and if sand
lugs
were being hung, sand rained along with the water. It was not a fun job
and one
learned never to look directly up if possible. All this was being done
in the
heat of the advanced day when the temperatures might be in the
nineties, near
one hundred.

Hangers were familiar
with “falling out” at the barn. The term didn’t always mean
literally
falling from the tiers to the ground, which sometimes did happen, but
most
often referred to getting too hot and suffering the ill effects of heat
exhaustion. A good hanging team could hang a full barn of tobacco
rather
quickly.It was common for the top hanger
to hang a half barn, and then rotate to the outside, and another hanger
hang
the last half. The key to hanging the barn was not just surviving the
water,
sand, and heat, but also using good judgment in making sure that the
barn was
not overly packed. The sticks of green tobacco had to be spaced
properly. If
placed too closely on the tiers, there wouldn’t be enough air
circulation, and
the tobacco could sour and ruin. Placed too widely, precious barn space
was
wasted.

"Cooking" (Curing)

After
the barn was properly hung with green tobacco, the curing or “cooking”
process
started. Most early barns were originally heated by a brick furnace
which was
built in the barn. It was equipped with flues and was stoked from the
outside
with wood. During my experiences in the 50’s, all of the old wood
cookers had
been converted to kerosene cookers. Yet, many of the old furnaces
remained in
the barns. I remember the oily smell of the kerosene burner and flues.
The
burner was notorious for clogging and smoking the tobacco. Carbon had
to be
removed regularly from the burner plate to keep the cooker going from
week to
week. Some farmers cooked with LP gas during this time period. In the
mid 60’s
Frazier Oil Company in Hazlehurst became a dealer for installing and
servicing
an advanced automatic tobacco cooker. The model used a fire chamber and
electronic spark to ignite the fuel. The system cycled on and off as
the
temperature fluctuated. I spent one summer working with Frazier Oil
helping
install these systems. Anyway, cooking tobacco was not just a job but
an art.
Some could do it right and others never seemed to get the hang of it.
My daddy
had experience with old wood furnaces and kerosene flue cookers.

As soon as the barn was hung
with green tobacco, cooking started. During
the first
stage of curing or “coloring” the leaf, if the weather were really hot
and the
barn could be maintained in the 90’s, then the burner was not needed.
Vents at
the foundation of the barn and gable windows were used to regulate the
amount
of ventilation. Some barns were equipped with ridge roof vents. On
occasions main
barn doors were “cracked” to aid in this process. The idea was to wilt
the
tobacco and not let it sour or mold. As time passed, the heat was
cranked up
and the temperature rose between 90 and about 110 degrees. During this
time the
tobacco was “coloring.” The wilted leaves began to turn a beautiful
creamy
yellow, but not yet golden. As the days progressed and the leaves had
been properly
colored, the time came when one needed to “go up on the barn.” This was
a
critical time because if one advanced the heat on a barn too soon,
damage was
done. If tobacco had too much green still left and you increased the
heat, you
set the color and the tobacco was forever green, instead of the golden
leaf
desired in the industry. Sometimes the leaf would color but the stems
would lag
behind and still be green. The farmer had to know when and how much to
go up on
heat. After the leaf was colored, the object was to dry the tobacco of
moisture,
so eventually the heat was gradually pushed from the 110-120 coloring
range to
a transitional range between about 121-139. Later the heat would be
advanced to
the 140-180 range. At this stage the barn was said to be on “high
heat,” and
the tobacco definitely quickly lost its moisture. Getting a barn of
tobacco up
to the upper ranges of drying was dangerous, and some farmers lost
their barn
by not paying enough attention to the process at this stage. Daddy
preferred to
keep the barn’s heat at about 160 at this time. At this stage a barn
seemed to
be a live creature; one could hear roaring and smell the distinctive
sweet
smell of cured tobacco. Sometimes the kerosene burner glowed red hot,
and that
was scary especially when observed at night. Some farmers were known to
actually
sleep on the barn’s benches during high heat time, at least until the
rising
temperatures were stabilized. That was a common practice during the
early
decades of growing tobacco when barns were heated by wood-burning
furnaces.

The
cooking
process took about five days, sometimes six. On the fifth day or there
about,
test sticks were removed from different areas of different rooms in the
barn to
check to see if the tobacco were dry. The stems were checked because
they were
the last part of the leaf to “cook-off” completely. We always snapped a
few
stems, and if we got a good dry clean snap, the tobacco was finished
and the
burner was extinguished. Soon thereafter, the doors and windows were
opened to
allow the tobacco to take on a certain amount of moisture making it
pliable and
workable. In other words, cooked tobacco needs to have enough moisture
to allow
it to be handled without the leaves shattering into small pieces. In
the
tobacco business when a barn or leaf of tobacco had hydrated enough to
be handled,
it was said to be “in order”, or “to have taken order.” However, too
much
moisture was not good either, for it would cause the tobacco to rot. As
in most
things, a balance was necessary.

Preparing
Tobacco
for
the Market:

Taking out

On
a tobacco
farm work was never finished. Tobacco once cured and ordered had to be
taken
out of the barn and placed in the pack house. There it would be removed
from
the sticks and processed for the market. The “taking out” process
usually took
place during the early morning hours of puttin-in day, or the day
before, if
you were lucky. Our family often took out tobacco on Mondays, our
gathering day.
We didn’t like taking it out on Sundays; even though, I remember on
some
occasions having to perform that task before we attended Sunday school.
On the
day of “taking out,” we got up early, about four o’clock, and rushed to
the
barn with kerosene lanterns. Inside the dimly lit barn, wecould no longer feel
the heat of the flues, and with the doors and windows open, the tobacco
had taken
on order. We sat about quickly passing the ’backer sticks out of the
barn. While
standing on the ground, we started by removing lower tier sticks. When
all the
sticks that we could reach in a given room had been taken out, I would
climb up
on the tiers and pass the sticks down to a brother who in turn passed
to a
second family member, and then to Daddy who placed them on the back of
our
truck. During the process, and especially with sand lugs, the sand
would roll
down our collars, get into our eyes, and dig into any place that was
not
covered.Merely touching a stick of sand
lugs usually set off a near mini sandstorm. When the truck was fully
loaded
with the golden cargo, we hauled it to the pack house where it was
stored for
processing. Then it was back to the house and a bit of breakfast before
reporting to the field for another puttin-in day. The process of
gathering
tobacco went on for several weeks until all the tobacco was cropped,
cooked,
and stored in the pack house. Usually the marketing process started
before all
the tobacco was gathered, so at some point in time, we were “puttin-in
tobacco,”
“cooking tobacco,” “taking out tobacco,” “taking off tobacco,” and
selling all at
the same time. It was a good thing that the season was not a year long
thing.

Taking off and grading

"Taking off"
tobacco in the pack house. Left to right, Rudy Clark, Loudine Walker,
Maggie Clark, and Rosie Clark. August, 1967. The Clark family lived on
the Clifford Walker place and helped with tobacco.

Preparing
the tobacco for sale was a critical job. After the tobacco was in the
pack
house, it had to be taken off the stick. It needed to be graded into
stacks of
good, poor, and poorest, or at least some grades so that all the
tobacco didn’t
reach the warehouse as a polyglot mess. The “taking-off” process was no
fun.We tried to make time “fly” by
singing, joking, and telling tales. When removing the tobacco from the
stick,
it was necessary to wrap string around one’s fingers. Sore fingers were
common,
and used string clung to everything. Stick splinters infested our
hands. Since my
uncle had more allotment than we did, and not nearly as many kids to
work, he paid
us to help with this task. We were paid a penny per stick taken-off. If
lucky,
I could take off about 150 sticks a day; some skilled and motivated
adult
managed many more.During the grading
process, any foreign matter found was removed and we constantly checked
for
what was called “green stem” tobacco. Green stems were tobacco leaves
that somehow
didn’t completely dry during the cooking, and their stems remained
plump and
green. Such tobacco could sometimes be identified by its unique green
smell. If
left in the tobacco piles, green stems caused rot and that was not
good. Daddy
made sure that his tobacco didn’t have green stems, nor smell as if it
did. If
a significant quantity of green stems were found, they were usually
restrung on
sticks and if possible placed in a neighbor’s barn that was already
cooking on
high heat. There the green stem sticks would be recooked. Any tobacco that showed the slightest hint of
gaining too much moisture and beginning to mold or mildew was thinly
spread on
newspaper to dry. Once graded, the tobacco was packed on sheets and
sent to
town to be sold at auction. During all this handling process, if the
tobacco
fell out of order, we would lightly sprinkle water on it to help it
regain
moisture.

Jesse's cousin
Linda Faye and Uncle Cliff Walker taking a break on a sheet of tobacco
that is being "made up." 1967.

Grading
tobacco also involved hand shuffling through the tobacco and removing
leaves
that didn’t fit, such as parched ones, or onesthat
were significantly damaged by insects. Nothing should detract
from the sheet of tobacco being sold. The very poorest quality tobacco
leaves
were graded out as well. Tobacco that was uniform in quality and type
was not
graded, and that was what we wanted. Daddy usually grew very good
tobacco and
got a high price for it at the market. He produced tobacco with
freckles that
indicated high sugar content. When the tobacco was taken off the stick
and
graded, we placed it on a sheet made from four fertilizer bags or feed
bags.
The fertilizer bags were burlap and the feed bags white cotton sacks
with brand
labels on them. They were sewn together with burlap cord, or white
cotton twine.
Daddy used a large needle with a slight curve to do the job. He also
made
repairs in sheets that had been torn for one reason or the other. The
tobacco
was placed on top of the square sheet which we had lined with a layer
of
newspaper. The stems were positioned so that they stuck outward from
the
center. Succeeding layers of tobacco leaves were placed on the sheet
creating a
pancake- like structure. Some tobacco was put in the center which
helped tie
the whole sheet of tobacco into one cohesive unit. Packing was done at
intervals to make sure the tobacco stuck together. For this task a
“pack board”
was made from wide boards. It was pretty much square and fairly heavy.
To give
added weight, Daddy placed as many kids on the board as possible. Uncle
Cliff
used a barn door as his pack board. Sometimes we would place bricks and
cement
blocks on the board and allow it to sit on the tobacco over night. Pack board imprints were visible even when the
tobacco was displayed on the warehouse floor. Packing made a sheet of
tobacco
attractive, compact for transporting, and difficult for pin hookers and
buyers
to pull apart, destroyingover-all
appearance. Some unscrupulous farmers sometimes attempted to hide poor
quality
or damaged tobacco in a sheet by packing it so tightly it could not be
examined
very well. When the tobacco had been properly arranged on the sheet and
packed,
the sheet’s four corners were lapped over the top of the pile and tied
into
knots. Because of the practical need to move sheets around during the
warehousing
and transporting processes, sheets of tobacco could not weigh more than
300
pounds. Sheets that topped that limit were rejected at the warehouse.
Daddy
approached but seldom exceeded the limit.

The most delightful time of the tobacco harvesting season came when the
tobacco was
sold. After the sheeting and packing at the pack house, we would load
our small pickup with as many sheets of tobacco as possible, frequently
as many
as five or six, and go to the Planters Warehouse in Hazlehurst where we
always
sold our tobacco. Daddy was a friend of Mr. Slim Johnson from North
Carolina,
a part owner and operator of the warehouse. One summer Daddy worked for
Mr. Johnson as “floor
manager.” The trip to town might take place at night, or even on a
rainy day. To
protect against rain, we always covered the precious load with a canvas
tarp.
When we arrived at the warehouse near the icehouse in Hazlehurst, we
joined a
line of trucks waiting to be unloaded. Along the street that led to the
warehouse loose tobacco leaves that had fallen from trucks lay
everywhere. If we kids
ever got a chance to ride to town, we usually sat on top of the tobacco
sheets
where we had a perfect view of the entire “goings ons.” Eventually, a
warehouse
crew removed the sheets from the truck and placed them on the floor for
auction the next day. On tobacco buggies (hand truck) the sheets were
rolled across certified scales and weighed by a
scalesman. If a sheet weighed 300 or less pounds, it was tagged with
the owner’s name and the recorded weight. It then was pushed to an
established row
where other sheets had been located, all waiting to be auctioned.

To
earn college money, once I worked the night
shift at Planters Warehouse and helped perform the unloading and sheet
alignments.
At some point during the night, we worked our way down rows of tobacco
sheets
flipping the tobacco onto shallow hardwood baskets. At that point, the
bottom
of the sheet became the top and that was what the buyers saw when they
examined
the tobacco at auction. The “dumping” of the tobacco allowed farmers to
reuse their
sheets. Dumping a sheet of tobacco was a big job for a skinny teenager
who only
weighed 128 pounds.The job required two
guys to pick a sheet slightly off the floor and with a quick swing dump
the
pile of tobacco upside down into a basket. Very large sheets often had
to be
rolled over, while hoping that the farmer had done his job of packing
the sheet
well enough that during the roll the whole thing didn’t fall apart.
When it did,
we placed the leaves back in the basket arranged in the usual pancake
shape.
Generally speaking, a unit of tobacco was referred to as a “sheet of
tobacco”
when it was in the pack house and at the farm. Once it was “dumped”
into a
basket on the floor of the warehouse, it was mostly called a “pile” of
tobacco,
or “basket” of tobacco. It sometimes was called a “lot” of tobacco.

With
youngsters loudly calling, “fresh boiled peee-nuts!” buyers,
warehousemen, and
farmers running about, sales days were most exciting. The warehouse
projected
its own unique character and odor. It smelled of boiled peanuts, stale
cigarette smoke, burlap, and sweet cured tobacco. It functioned like a
beehive,
with each person knowing his job and doing it. Before each auction, a
government grader graded each sheet and left his score on the ticket.
When the auction
started, the auctioneer stood at the head of a row of tobacco piles,
and mostly
walked sideways, or backed down the row facing buyers who were
broadcasting
their bids to him in distinctive ways. Fingers and hands would be
lifted into
the air in personalized fashions, and certain calls made to get the
auctioneer’s attention. Once everyone got used to each other’s style of
bidding, every thing moved rapidly. As the animated crowd moved along
pulling
tobacco from the piles and examining the leaves, the auctioneer rattled
off his
musical chant.When a sale was made you
could hear him loudly bellow, “Sold to American,” or to R. J. Reynolds,
or a
host of other tobacco companies.I can
remember several companies that bought tobacco at the Hazlehurst
tobacco
markets, both at the Planters and the Farmers warehouses. The companies
that I
remember include: R. J. Reynolds; American; China American; Leggett
& Myers;
Brown & Williamson; Imperial; and P. Lorillard. Perhaps there were
others.Independent buyers also speculated
on the
market. These buyers were called “pin hookers,” and farmers resented
their
being there buying their tobacco. As a small child, based on talk by
farmers, I
envisioned them as devil-like creatures that wielded a big sharp hay
hook, with
which they snatched sheets of tobacco off the warehouse floor. In spite
of
their perceived evil persona, these businessmen bid on piles of tobacco
they
thought could be resold for higher prices. They would buy the tobacco,
rework
it and then resell. Sometimes they didn’t do much reworking, just
resold.
Apparently farmers didn’t like the pin hookers making money off their
hard work
and tobacco. In general, tobacco buyers as a group tended to have a
“reputation,” either earned or unearned. A few favored strong drink and
cards.
Being away from their families and communities might have added
temptation.

If
farmers weren’t pleased with the sales price, they rejected the sale
and tried
another warehouse, or a different day. Some would check the price and
rip the sales
ticket. The US
government offered low support prices and farmers hated accepting. In
some
cases where the tobacco was damaged or had significant quality
problems,
support prices were all that could be expected. As a kid I never
understood the
support programs well, and today still don’t.When
Daddy sold our tobacco, he followed a ritual. He was
superstitious.
He grew a good crop, so he should have expected a good price; yet, he
wanted
insurance that he would get the best price. On sales day he would dress
in his
cleaned and pressed brown khaki pants, polished and shined black dress
shoes,
and pressed white short sleeved shirt with two pockets. A check was
made to
ensure that he had his marketing card in his pocket. He always wore a
special
gold ring that we called the “Crazy Tooth” ring. The ring was set with
a tooth
that supposedly came from the dental work of a crazy patient at my
grandmother’s nursing home. Anyway, Daddy always wore that ring and
rubbed it
several times during sales day. It worked, for most often he came home
with
good news. Good prices back then ranged in the low to middle sixties.
If you
got sixty-six cents per pound, you had gotten the very best for your
tobacco.

Tobacco
sales were the climax of the gathering season and during that time many
kids
could be heard practicing their auctioneer chants as they went about
doing
their farm chores or conversing with family and friends. Once the
tobacco was
sold it was re-sheeted and shipped by truck or train to the different
tobacco
factories located at various places in the country. Some were shipped
overseas.
At the end of tobacco season, auctioneers, buyers, warehousemen, and
pin
hookers left town and things drifted back to normal.

All said and done,
growing tobacco was a difficult job; yet,
it was a living. The
hard labor
was off-set by certain antics practiced by the field hands. Fellowship
between
family and friends helped us deal with bone-numbing labor. Antics that
I can
remember included such things as placing a turtle or cute baby bunny
that we
had found in a tobacco sled. When the sled was unloaded at the barn,
the special
delivery created excitement and lots of oohs and aahs. Even though it
was done
occasionally by some croppers, putting a snake in the sled was a no-no.
That
naturally created consternation and some strong denouncing from the
barn crew. Another
way we passed time and made the farming experience more exciting,
involved tussling
with each other in the field or around water holes. Such fooling around
usually
started when one guy challenged another to see who could throw the
other in the
pond. If nothing else, it was a good way to cool-off. I remember one
day
earning points with my Uncle Cliff by being able to throw him in the
water hole
where we had been drawing water for planting tobacco. He had already
thrown me
in the muddy water. Polly Ray used to horrify us boys by taking a dare
to walk
barefoot through a stinging nettles patch. He would aggressively stomp
on the
sharp thorns as we cringed and howled. Dressed in his oversized
overalls with
frayed legs, he never wore shoes in the summer and his feet were truly
as tough
as shoe leather. He was one of our favorite characters who talked
without
moving his lips, and always had a hand-rolled Prince Albert cigarette on his lower
lip as
if glued there. We delighted in predicting how long his cigarette ashes
would
grow before dropping. Other favorite tricks performed at the tobacco
patch
included Uncle Cliff pretending to eat a hornworm or swallow tobacco
poison. He
was so good at the trick until even those of us who had seen him do it
before
were almost convinced. The poor rookies who had never seen him perform
became
alarmed and expected him to fall over any second, which he usually did
with
great fanfare. Cool clear water fetched from the barn and taken to the
field
was a good thing. Most often water was delivered by the sled driver in
a gallon
Twelve Oaks Vinegar jar. It was passed among the croppers, and after
all had
had their fill, stored under a shade tree or tobacco plant. During most
years, friendly
competition existed between the female barn help and the male field
crew. The
girls liked to show the boys that they could string all the tobacco
that the
guys could crop. Often they hurried and just before the sled driver
arrived,
would sit down on the barn benches as if they had been idle for a time.
They
complained that they had to string the stuff and guessed that they
would also
have to go to the field and crop it.

Thinking
back on those interesting days, I recall that the most pleasurable part
of
puttin-in tobacco was the dinner meals served by farm wives and their
helpers.
It was the custom, in the 50’s, to provide dinner for all the tobacco
hands.
Actually, the meal was a feast and consisted of available farm
products. The
menu included a copious amounts of ice-tea, and a selection of the
following
type foods: Fresh Purple Hull, Black-Eyed, or Brown Crowder field peas;
butter beans, potato salad, hot
cornbread
wedges, new boiled potatoes, buttermilk biscuits, hot fried pork chops,
fried
chicken, beef stew, boiled pork backbone, fried or slickum okra, stewed
squash,
pickled beets, garden onions, rice, turnips, mustard greens, macaroni
and
cheese, roasting ear corn, creamed corn, snapped beans, cucumber
pickles,
yellow cabbage pickle relish,vine ripened sliced tomatoes, cobbler pies,
banana pudding, and cakes. The
meal was
served at twelve noon, and during segregation days, the black help, if
there
were any, ate last. I never understood that proposition, but that was
the way
of things back then. After the big dinner a break was taken to digest
the food
before returning to the hot tobacco patch. The men and boys usually sat
under
shade trees or lounged on porches. The women gathered in the house. As
time
passed, this tradition was suspended by those who had a small allotment
and
only needed a half day of labor. During the waning of the old, a new
tradition
was born. This tradition held that crews deserved a short break and
refreshments during mid-mornings about ten o’clock. When this custom
had taken
hold, it was widely practiced. Tobacco hands were provided a “Co-cola,”
candy
bar, and a few minutes in which to take them down. It was a burden for
those
farmers who had a small crop, yet still had to “cough-up” for the
refreshments.
On the other hand, for the workers it was a moment of revival.

Conclusion:

Growing
up on a
farm is a privilege. Few live as many rich diverse experiences that
help you
appreciate life. As a kid complaining about getting up before dawn to
“take out”
a barn of tobacco, I never dreamed I was learning discipline and
responsibility.
While sticky and sweaty, cropping up and down tobacco rows,
perseverance never
crossed my mind. When hanging sticks in the barn, I never realized that
I was
learning to be a team player. Developing do-it-yourself skills was the
last
thing on my mind, when I was helping build sleds. When just walking
round the
farm, “green space” didn’t mean what it does now. Farming builds
character, and
farmers are tough and enduring creatures.